


Fill This House With Love

by systems



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Making A Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systems/pseuds/systems
Summary: This is established, well into the future fic. Stiles is through college and he and Derek have just bought a house. Aiming for fluffy, let me know if I hit the mark. Warning: contains furniture stores, and furniture sales people."What he's trying to say is that we're looking for something a little less...overstuffed.""Less likely to swallow me whole when I sit on it," Stiles adds.





	Fill This House With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyDrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/gifts).



> Thank you to H & S for the beta.

Derek pries one eye open to see Stiles grinning at him, chin digging rather uncomfortably into the spot just below his pectoral. 

"Whatever you're going to ask, the answer is no," he rasps, then drops his head back down. He knows he's slept in; it's far too bright and he can smell coffee on Stiles's breath. But he's never been a morning person and this is his day off. 

"Too late," Stiles chirps in the tone he uses when he finds Derek cute. "The question's already been asked  _ and _ answered. We're going shopping." 

Derek makes a questioning sort of groan and gets a comforting pat over his heart. 

"We're going to get a real bed, and a couch," Stiles ticks each item off on his fingers, "and a table and chairs for the dining room, and maybe a coffee table, and we need bookshelves, oh and an entertainment center-"

"Stiles."

"Derek," Stiles says patiently. 

"I guess we do need to furnish this place," he concedes. 

"It would be nice to cuddle you instead of my laptop on movie nights," his boyfriend nods agreeably. Derek snorts. 

"Bring me coffee and let me shower," he says. "Then we'll go." 

  


Really, they've needed to go furniture shopping for a while. Derek knows that. They've been out of the loft for seven weeks and had this house under contract for at least twice that. 

They haven't really settled in, yet, though. Their bedroom contains only a bed and boxes of clothes and a lamp. There are two chairs that don't match at the kitchen table (which wobbles in every direction and mustn't be overloaded), and Lydia put her foot down when they tried to bring the old couch, so the only place to sit in the living room is the floor. They've both been too busy with work to care much, but it would be nice to feel like this is actually their home, rather than an extension of the loft and every one of Stiles's college apartments. 

Their schedules haven't overlapped well, and neither wants to go by himself. Stiles has made several attempts to get Derek to agree to ordering furniture online, but Derek has numerous and varied reasons why that isn't an acceptable solution:  _ How will we know if it's comfortable? What if it gets here and we don't like it? What if it gets damaged in shipping? Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to ship furniture back? There is only so much furniture assembly I'm willing to do, Stiles. Don't look at me like that, I know you never finished that IKEA wardrobe in college.  _

(To which Stiles always replies:  _ Who says a wardrobe needs doors, anyway? _ )

  


The first place they go calls itself a gallery. Derek picked it because Google Maps said it was closest. 

"It's set up like little rooms," Stiles says when he walks inside, as if he hasn't been furniture shopping before. Maybe he hasn't, Derek never asked.

"Chairs are a little big to hang on shelves," he responds.

"You don't hang chairs," Stiles scoffs. "You stack them. Obviously."

Derek can't tell if he's serious or not. 

"We agreed to combine your style and mine but I don't see any room set up to look like the apocalypse," Stiles says. "Should we try another store?" Derek elbows him. 

Stiles lights up when a salesperson approaches. She's dressed much more nicely than either of them, Derek notices, and looks serious. He groans inwardly. She's going to hate them. 

Stiles on the other hand, has no such reservations. He practically pounces when she starts her clearly scripted welcome. "Do you have anything with sharper edges?" he asks eagerly.

"Excuse me?" the woman looks between them and settles her gaze on Derek, as if expecting him to explain. He sighs, but he translates anyway.

"What he's trying to say is that we're looking for something a little less overstuffed."

"Less likely to swallow me whole when I sit on it," Stiles adds.

The woman doesn't seem to know how to take this. She gestures further in the store. "We have a lovely leather set here."

"It's so puffy." Stiles wrinkles his nose. "Maybe something a bit more… impervious to sharp objects?" 

"Stiles." 

"Um. How sharp?" the woman asks in a tone that suggests there is definitely a right and a wrong answer to this question. Derek has a feeling he knows which Stiles will give.

Holding up his hands and curling his fingers, Stiles says: "Claws. Claws like knives." 

"Oh, you have a cat?" She smiles weakly. 

"No. A very aggressive iguana."

"Um."

"His name is Sith, because he's evil," he continues. "Also when he hisses it kind of sounds like he's saying 'Sith.'"

Rubbing his temples, Derek says, "Stiles, stop."

The salesperson frowns. "I'm just going to...go." She shakes her head as she walks away, mumbling that she doesn't get paid enough for this shit, and waving a coworker off with a "they're insane and not here to buy anything, don't bother." 

Stiles hums. "I don't like anything here." Derek stares at him, incredulous.

"We're barely ten feet inside the door!"

"Yeah. Next!" He turns with a flourish and marches out. 

  


The next place is basically a warehouse, but Stiles is already nodding when they pull up. Derek has a feeling he's going to spend a lot of time - and possibly a lot of money - here. 

"Hey, before we go in," he says, catching Stiles by the shoulder. 

"Yeah?" 

"Nothing flatpack." 

Stiles snorts. "My open wardrobe still bothering you?" 

"It wasn't open, it was incomplete," Derek says. Slipping his hand down to Stiles's lower back, he shoves him in the direction of the store, cutting off his protestations. 

Stiles spreads his arms wide when they walk through the door. "Okay, I like this. You need a chair? Here's literally every chair we sell. Couch? They're in rows. The beds are so close together you could hop from one to the next, no wolfy super jumps required."

Derek means to sigh at him, really, but what comes out is a chuckle that could only be described as fond. This is the man he's in love with. This is the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with, though he hasn't asked him yet. Shaking his head, he just gestures to the far side of the store, where the tables are. "Start with tables, and work our way across?" 

Stiles purses his lips and nods. "Good strategy." 

  


"We have this set available in these stains, plus black and white paint," a young man in company colors tells them. His nametag shouts ASK ME ABOUT SPECIAL FINANCING in bold, and his name has been covered with a sticker that appears to be a monkey holding a banana. "Which would you prefer?" 

Derek frowns. "We haven't discussed colors really."

Stiles shrugs. "You pick." 

"You know me, I'm flexible."

" _ Yeah _ , you are," Stiles leers at him. 

The clerk shakes his head and stares off to the side, having clearly decided he was just going to excuse his consciousness from listening to the rest of this conversation. Derek hated to bring him back, but, "Can we just write down the number and pick a color later?" 

The guy nods. "I can do that." 

"We're looking at couches, too," Derek says. "Can we just find you if we decide we know what we want?" 

The clerk gives him a genuine smile. "Absolutely." 

  


By the time they hit upholstered furniture, Stiles has given in and FaceTimed Lydia. She had dictated the paint colors and made them change out the cabinets while they were replacing the countertop with a more werewolf-resistant concrete. She might as well advise them on the furniture. Derek thought it had actually worked out quite well, as it saved him from having to deal with painters. He hated the smell of paint.

"Hey Lydia, what do you think of a blue couch?" Stiles asked, wandering further down the row.

"Blue would be acceptable," Lydia nods. 

"Like this one?" Stiles snaps a picture. 

"I don't know. Take a picture with one of you sitting on it."

Stiles gestures at him, but Derek protests. "I don't want to be color-coordinated with my furniture, Lydia."

She sighs as if he's been especially obtuse. "No, I need a frame of reference. The lighting will be better in your living room. The lighting in that store is terrible, but I need to know what kind of terrible." 

"Oh, in that case." He rolls his eyes, but he does sit down and let Stiles snap his picture.

  


Bedding is next. Derek tries to at least maintain some semblance of maturity here, but it's hard with Stiles bouncing up off one mattress and flopping onto the next one. He claims he's testing their "tensile strength," which Derek is 80% sure is bullshit. 

"I like this one," Stiles calls, sitting on a bed a few metres away. "Come sit with me." 

Derek sits beside his boyfriend. He bounces a little, ignoring Stiles's grin when he does it. "It's good."

"Come on, this mattress is calling my name - just like you'll be once we get it home," Stiles says with an exaggerated wink. 

Derek rolls his eyes. "Your pick up lines used to be better than that."

"You take that back," Stiles gasps, as if the very idea offends him. "My pick up lines were always terrible." He grins. "Lucky for me, I didn't have to do much to convince you."

"No, you didn't," Derek says fondly, leaning in for a kiss. 

"You sap," Stiles mumbles against his lips. 

  


Eventually, they agree on a few pieces and resolve to fill in as they can. They pick what seems most essential, which is quite a lot considering they host the pack meetings now that they officially have "more space than anyone else." What they've purchased is brought to the front of the store, and they head outside. 

Derek and Stiles stop short at nearly the same moment. They stare at Derek's Camaro and then each other. 

"We didn't think this through," Derek whispers. He's not sure he could fit one of the chairs in what passes for a backseat. He could tie some of the furniture to the roof, but he'd have to put all of it up there, and his brain conjures up a cartoonish vision of the Camaro being flattened under a Jenga-like tower of furniture. 

Stiles puffs up his cheeks and lets out a huge sigh. "We are gonna need a bigger car. Hey," Stiles whirls around on the spot to face the employees, "do you deliver?" One of them rolls his eyes before sighing out a resigned  _ yeah, come on, you gotta fill in forms  _ and the other just starts rolling his cart back inside. 

  


They set up the delivery and head home. Derek contemplates making lunch, but he honestly wants a nap more than any of the food in the kitchen. He wanders up to their bedroom, just in time to see Stiles flop onto their bed, limbs sprawled to take up as much room as possible. Derek is just considering his options (push him over to make room, fall on top of him to make him squawk) when Stiles lifts his head and looks around the room. 

"Hey. We bought a new bed." 

"Yes, Stiles. I was there," Derek says. He raises an eyebrow. "So?" 

"Wanna wreck this one?" Stiles wiggles his eyebrows in a manner that's too chaotic to be taken seriously. He reaches out and then he's tugging Derek down, and he goes willingly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are pizza, kudos spaghetti  
> Come join me on tumblr, if you haven't already


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